A Heart's Desire
by Ghibli
Summary: Their relationship has been deteriorating steadily over the past years, now’s the time to rebuild it. GS
1. Georgia on my Mind

Title: A Heart's Desire

Disclaimer: While checking my bank account, I was sorely disappointed not to see a seven figure digit. It would have been different had I owned any rights to CSI. But alas, I don't.

Summary: Their relationship has been deteriorating steadily over the past years, now's the time to rebuild it. G/S

A/N notes: 'Georgia on my Mind' is the creation of Hoagy Carmichael.

The two quotes used are from Shakespeare's play 'Much Ado about Nothing'.

While this story has its own premise, it can be read as a continuation of 'Illusions of Love'. A thank-you goes to my betas Anansay, Laredo Grissom and LK. Any remaining errors are all mine.

_Chapter one_

'Georgia on my Mind' was softly playing, creating an atmosphere that was sexy and cool, sultry and eloquent. Long time friends and week-old lovers sat in booths and bar stools, sipping daiquiris and martinis, some unconsciously swaying to the melody while laughing or talking animatedly. Just another Saturday evening pleasantly spent, the sparkling dresses and toned-down suits of the patrons meshing vibrantly with the colorful cocktails. Silly stories and puffed-up tales were told, giggles and laughter resonated within the room, echoing back from the walls and windows, occasionally drowning out the music. 

She sat in one of the corner booths, her eyes shining and her Bordeaux red lips breaking out in laughter more often than she remembered in a long time. Now, she didn't want to remember the home jacking that would have lasting psychological effects for the elderly couple, or the sixteen year old girl whose throat was slit by a 'customer', or the baby who after months of abuse had finally succumbed to his injuries. She wanted to live, to — at least for a few hours — be free of the demons that nearly constantly terrorized her, infiltrating her imagination during the hours of sleep, slowly but steadily chipping away at her faith in humans.

But tonight, she was enjoying herself. And the man sitting opposite her was certainly partially responsible for that. For more years than she was willing to admit, she had stayed with hope in her heart that one day he would actually see her again and allow his heart, and brain, to care, perhaps even to love her. Allow her to meet the real 'Gil Grissom', the man who hid behind an impressive marble wall. Lately, they had tentatively started to repair their friendship, trying to regain the trust they once used to enjoy and share their feelings and thoughts, cautiously baring their heart to one another.

And it worked. Slowly, he was shedding his reclusive and solitary tendencies and allowed others to interact and share. Well, not just everyone. Mostly her. The body farm, a sunset at Lake Mead, riding the roller coaster at New York, New York. Some of their trips and meetings could have been seen as romantic she supposed, but mostly they remained the epitome of friendship. A friendship that was beautiful and true, with the knowledge that someday both would be ready for more.

A hand on hers brought her out of her musings, and she looked up, a shy smile gracing her features.

"Where did your thoughts take you?" His voice was tinted with amusement, yet his eyes showed only his desire to know the answer.

Her fingers curled softly around his, and a soft sigh escaped her. "Just thinking a little. About you opening up to me, gaining back our mutual trust. For being my 'diversion'. But…. Tell me something. You're not just doing this for my sake, are you? Some sense of twisted responsibility, so that when everything's fine again, you'll end up retreating once more and leave me with a… well, just missing you like crazy. "

She flinched inwardly. It was too soon to bring her deeper feelings into the open. He didn't have to know yet that she loved him, and that if he would ever leave, her heart wouldn't be left in once piece.

"You are important to me, Sara, you've always been. And always will be. Have you ever read Shakespeare's' 'Much Ado About Nothing'?"

"Read the play and saw the movie multiple times. Why?"

"Then you're familiar with the two quotes in 'Much Ado about Nothing' that fit nearly to perfection how I feel about you. 'We'll be friends first,' and 'I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?' While I can't fathom why you're…attracted to me in the first place, whatever may happen, I will always be your friend, even if at some point you realize that I'm not worth your attentions and feelings."

Eyebrows raised, she brought her cocktail up to her lips and took a small sip. While the cocktails served at the bar ranged from the classics (Manhattan) to the 'sexy' (Little Red Teddy), she'd chosen a classic Metropolitan. No frills or colorful layers. Pure and simple was the way to go.

"If I didn't think you worth the effort, Grissom, I would have left years ago. Yet I'm still here. And I'm persistent; so don't even think about me leaving you. Besides, you might be the one who becomes fed up with me. I'm no picnic, you know."

As another slow jazz song swirled around the room, enticing the customers to step out onto the dance floor and softly sway to the music, Grissom stood and offered her his hand. "Want to dance?"

A beaming smile graced her face while taking his hand and being lead to the dance area, where by now a moderate number of couples were slowly moving to the crooning voice of Dean Martin.

While their relationship was still ostensibly set in the realm of friendship, an observer would have automatically classified them as a couple in love. Bodies closely pressed together, eyes that stared intently into the other's; the outside world of rules and regulations, observations and opinions, had stopped existing and interfering for just a few minutes in their lifetime.

And then the moment was broken.

The rambunctious and overtly enthusiastic laughing of a small company of newly arrived guests interrupted the romantic and soothing atmosphere and turned it into anything but that. No longer was the music able to softly rise above the voices of the people, no longer was there the general feeling of relaxation and quiet that brought the majority of visitors. Now, it was just plain loud.

Grissom and Sara slowly withdrew from their embrace, their hands still gently touching the other's hips. One look and the decision was made. Paying the drinks and consumed snacks, Sara grabbed her purse and they walked out into the chilly night air, glad to leave the boisterous atmosphere behind.

"I can't believe you haven't been paged yet. I mean, I'm off, but you're still on call. And time's all the sweeter for that." She held his hand loosely while strolling back to his car.

The scenery slid by, some buildings basking in the artificial neon lights that were one of the trademarks of Las Vegas. Others stood dilapidated and sad, waiting for the day the remaining walls would be knocked down and be replaced by another state-of-the-art designed building. Yet one more piece of history lost without a second glance.

"Don't you ever feel inadequate, Grissom, living here? Not intelligence wise, but with your body? With the way that society is so focused on appearance alone, even the most beautiful person could become insecure at times."

"Not being sure of ourselves is part of being human. Perhaps those who remain themselves, without adjusting their physical appearance are those who, deep down, are most secure." His eyes flicked over to Sara's, and he spoke again. "And besides, who's to say what's beautiful or not? All I know is that there's not an inch of you that I'd change, Sara. You're beautiful in every way that matters."

A slight blush graced her face and she looked down at their entwined hands. Softly stroking, his touch managed to bring goosebumps to her skin, and she grasped just a touch tighter, savoring the moment.

The rest of the drive went by quickly, just like the evening had, and before she knew it, Grissom had parked his car before her apartment. "You um… want to come in, you know, for a nightcap?" His lips were pursed and a gentle smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he thought of a reply.

"No," and he quickly continued his reply upon seeing Sara's slightly raised eyebrow. "Let's not tempt fate or Murphy's Law will come into play: if I do come in, I'm sure someone will end up paging me at a very poor time."

While Grissom couldn't deny the desire to take Sara up on her offer and just see what else the night had in store for them, an acceptation would lead to actions that, he feared, would boldly cross the line into a romantic —and most likely sexual — relationship. And while he didn't particularly object to that for the future, he wasn't sure that now was an ideal time.

He enjoyed spending time with Sara —from eating a simple vegetarian pizza while watching some obscure documentary detailing the life of Bram Stoker, to the slow dance they had shared earlier that evening. And that dance was imprinted upon his memory. The scent of her perfume that had drifted upwards, enticing every fiber of him with her sensuality. His blue eyes captivated by her smoky brown ones, knowing that they could exude determination and anger as easily as showing admiration and adoration. The feel of their bodies pressed close together, swaying in an unhurried rhythm…

He willed his mind to get back to less dangerous territory.

There were also the talks that varied from the inconsequential, such as if he preferred a pen or pencil when doing his crosswords, (he had never thought about it until she asked, but supposed it would be a pen, since that was the easiest to read of the two choices. She of course had just looked at him and reminded him that not all answers were correct on the first try, and that pen marks were a bitch to erase.), to the more existential questions that could lead to spirited hour-long debates. Facts and arguments would be tossed every which way, daring the other to search and voice their counter-opinions and ideas. But never did it spiral out of control. Never were their voices raised to an obscene level, or words uttered that would hurt either of them.

Being one's own, being allowed to have and express opinions that were contradictory to that of the other was a cornerstone of their relationship. And though Grissom didn't think that a sexual relationship would hurt the friendship they had now, he wasn't convinced either that their current relationship had developed to its maximum potential. Just a little while longer, a bit more patience, and then they would be ready. Both of them.

"Okay. So I'll see you to tomorrow then, at work. Thank you for the wonderful evening, Grissom."

She leaned over the console and kissed him on the cheek, lingering slightly, letting her lips trail slightly to the corner of his mouth, before dashing out of the car and up to the door of her apartment complex. Swiftly unlocking the door, she turned to look at him once more and waved, a cheeky grin gracing her face, then stepping into the hallway and disappearing from his sight.

_TBC_


	2. Solitary Silence

_Title_: A Heart's Desire.

_Summary: _Their relationship has been deteriorating steadily over the past years, now's the time to rebuild it. G/S

_Disclaime__r:_ See chapter one.

A thanks once again goes to my betas. Any remaining errors are mine. And Niff, you're an excellent nitpicker. ;)

Another thank you goes to everyone who has reviewed the previous chapter. It's very much appreciated.

_------------------------_

_Chapter Two_

_Solitary Silence_

While accustomed to many an imposing and gruesome sight, every death still had its impact on each of the investigators. Usually, they were able to observe, and then process it, trying to diminish the lasting effects as much as possible. Every so often though, the sights were too much. The brutality of certain crimes, the passion-filled hatred with which a rape or murder had been committed, the biting pain and loss for the 'fortunate' souls who had managed to survive their ordeal would even impact the most seasoned police officer and crime scene analyst.

Brass came walking up to the investigators and gave them the initial information.

"Vic's name is James Moore. Forty six years old, biology professor at UNLV. Wife found him here when she came back from picking her daughter up from the airport." Brass paused and glanced over row upon row of jars containing dozens of metahylated-preserved animals. "Well, he certainly liked his preserved specimens." "It's a bit like your office, Gil, though I don't see Miss Piggy anywhere."

"I think I found a substitute for her, Jim," Grissom replied as he waved Sara over to photograph a clot of glass specimen jars that had fallen to smithereens. The preservation fluid that once filled the jars had now spilled out onto the hardwood floor, surrounding several objects that were near impossible to identify by a novice. One that particularly grabbed Grissom's attention was a sickly white, barely identifiable object. "Meet Mister Ed. Junior."

"That…thing… is a horse? I'm just gonna trust you on that, Gil, 'cause to me it looks like a frozen chicken thigh that was nuked too fast." Brass' voice dripped with disgust.

"The 'spirit room' in an annex of the Natural History Museum in London houses a total of fifteen miles of shelves stocked with preserved specimens. Many of which are centuries old. Fascinating actually." Grissom went on bagging the glass remnants, while Sara went back to photographing the body and surrounding crime scene.

Outwardly she didn't react, but Sara wondered from where her supervisor got his knowledge. Was it just one of countless tidbits that had been gathered by extensive reading and were stored in his brain, or did he perhaps visit London at some point in the past? She decided there was no point in dwelling on it and trained her thoughts on the case. Though she would like to visit London sometime, of course under the guise of acquiring knowledge. With Grissom. Right. A quick blink of the eyes and she focused once again on the body lying in front of her.

"So, we have a collection of shattered preservation jars, a bludgeoned professor, and no murder weapon. What's your impression, Sara? "

"Okay…" She stood up from her hunches and looked around the room.

A simple parquet floor tied in with the numerous mahogany-colored bookcases that lined the white walls, each shelf filled with countless jars and rare leather-bound books. The French windows and doors allowed light to filter in, creating an atmosphere reminiscent of the library of many a grand Loire valley château.

"Dr. Moore would have been working at his desk here, hence the turned-on pc and scattered notes. Someone rang the doorbell or perhaps had a key to get in, since there was no sign of breaking and entering. Moore meets him or her, is comfortable enough to walk back to his office, and is then bashed to death."

Grissom pursed his lips slightly and pointed to one of two tables symmetrically placed near the door. "One's missing a lamp stand. What's the chance that that's the murder weapon, you think?"

Brass spoke up. "Right. Well, I'm gonna leave you all to it. I'm about to talk to the victim's wife and daughter, see what they've got to say. They seem to be shocked, but looks can be deceiving. "

Nick piped up. "Oh man, tell me about it. Back in Texas, I was set up with a blind date, ya know, courtesy of my friends, and well, let's just say that…"

With a shake of the head and a slightly exasperated look, Grissom packed up his belongings and evidence, and intervened. "Nick, you take the perimeter. The killer is likely to have escaped through those French doors there, so dust it and look for footprints. Warrick, you've got this room, Sara, want to join me?"

The living room they found themselves in was tastefully decorated, with an eclectic mix. A pair of Georgian cream and gold armchairs were placed intimately upon a blue and white silk woven Oriental rug, the colors complimenting each other as the sunlight softly touched the fabrics. A perfectly polished and gleaming crystal candelabra hung above a contemporary glass center table. All around the room there were touches of Monarchial France, exotic Asia, of eras long bygone, yet interspersed with modern Italian and American designs. Elegant and timeless, the room exuded a warm and intimate feeling. Not pretentious and cold, as one might have expected.

After the proper introductions were made by Brass, he came straight to the point.

"We understand that you, Ma'am, have been James Moore's wife for the past six years. That should make you relatively aware of his dealings and such. Can you think of anyone who may have held a grudge against him?"

The grief stricken woman leaned forward slightly, her hand occasionally rubbing her eyes, knuckles placed against her lips in a valiant effort to stifle the sobs that were threatening to come out.

The daughter, estimated to be in her mid twenties by Sara, entered the room quietly, setting a cup of tea in front of her mother, and a coffee for Sara and Brass. Grissom had declined the offer.

"You wouldn't think that being a biology professor would exactly be a profession that would induce grudges, would you?" The woman placed her tea back on the table after having barely sipped any, stood up, and paced around before walking to one of the windows overlooking the desert expanse. "But sometimes it was. James was a wonderful teacher, but he expected his students who showed promise to do well, to go further than the average ones."

"Some people show more promise than others." He threw a subtle glance in Sara's direction, and held her eyes for a brief moment. "Mrs. Moore, you wouldn't happen to know the names of those students, would you?"

She nodded. "James talked to me about his work, about his hobbies, about his likes and dislikes. And I told him the same things. Our relationship is, was, a wonderful concoction of friendship, love, and mutual respect." A tear escaped the corner of her eye and tried to follow gravity's path down her cheek, but she dabbed it before it could start its journey. "I uhm… some of his grading work is upstairs in our bedroom. Would you like to have that too?"

As Brass indicated that they would, Jenna Moore made graceful her escape up the grand staircase and into the bedroom, allowing her a much needed respite, and the investigators time to talk to their daughter who had remained downstairs, dealing with several of the inquisitive phone calls that came in.

An hour later, the examination of the scene had been complete, and armed with several possible leads, the investigators and detective left the villa, tired yet invigorated after a long shift.

Once back at the lab, the samples, prints and casts were either given to the appropriate lab technicians, or analyzed by the team members themselves.

Test results trickled in as the hours went by, and leads were followed up and discarded. Those students that might have held even the slightest grudge against James Moore all had accountable whereabouts. The few workeable fingerprints that were found at the scene came back as belonging to James Moore, as well as to his wife. And while it wouldn't be the first time that a spouse would turn out to be a murderer, there was no motive or indication that she had anything to do with the killing. No financial gain, an apparent stable marriage, and an airtight alibi.

Grissom pushed open the door to the autopsy room. "What else is new, Al?"

"My daughter's decided to transform her bedroom into a Goth haven. Does that count?" Robbins inquired. Seeing a slightly disapproving look tinged with humor, he continued.

"I guess not. Your vic died due to temporal bone fracture and closed head injury caused by blunt force trauma. Unfortunately, there's no clear indentation of the murder weapon, so I can't help you there."

"So what _have_ you got?" Grissom's voice was curt and tinged with exasperation. Leads came and went, but if felt as though they weren't getting any nearer to the identity of the perpetrator.

"Well, I did find a slither of some type of metal in his collar." The coroner handed an evidence bag to Grissom. "Hope that helps."

The bag was held to the light, the night shift supervisor squinting at it lightly. "Thanks Al. If we're lucky, it'll match the remaining lamp stand we found in the library, and we'll know the murder weapon. That would be one fixed puzzle piece."

Grissom pushed open the swing doors of the autopsy room, and headed to the laboratory intending to give the latest lead to one of the lab technicians for identification. And then he would go home. While the last weeks had given him back a sense of direction and purpose, it had taken its toll on his energy. Add the never ending stream of incoming cases that were piled upon the already short-staffed nightshift, and it wasn't a surprise to find that he was drained.

And he missed Sara.

Yes, they were on the case together, but that didn't automatically mean that they were able to spend time in the same room as each other, breathe in the same air, allowing their newfound connection to envelop them with a sense of peace.

Their time after shift wasn't much better. Both were too busy and tired to go out, even if it were only to the movies. As most of their outings and excursions had taken place outside of either of their homes, he hadn't been inside her apartment since the day he had picked her up from the police station. She, however, had been inside his townhouse a few times since then, his usual stark privacy cracked opened, allowing her a complimentary view of his personality. Things had changed and developed, moved forward and leaped backwards since then.

Perhaps the distance between them wasn't coincidental. Perhaps in the back of their minds, each subconsciously were trying to put the brakes on their relationship. Not stopping it altogether, but slowing it down enough so that it wouldn't race straight ahead when it should have taken a turn. Taking the time to come to terms with what had happened, and accept it. To think it over in solitary silence.

TBC


	3. The Swirling Path of Thought

Disclaimer: Helaas ben ik nog steeds niet in het bezit van enige CSI rechten, nog van CBS. Ik heb zelfs geen aandelen van Viacom. Als ik die wel had, was de man wiens initialen L.M is al lang de laan uitgevlogen.

To make it easier for any CBS hotshots reading this: CSI ain't mine.

LK, dear, thanks for the quick beta job. Hope you have a lovely nap, and have fun experimenting on the different forms of beard burn with the hubby. {evil grin}

¤¤¤

_The Swirling Path of Thought_

Dark hues of blue and red, carefully blending into one another, creating a swirling and swooshing pattern of indigo blue, Bordeaux red and purple violet. It seemed as though the mingled and unidentifiable figures had tried to escape somehow into the dark voids that were sprinkled on the page, yet now, as the ink on the notebook cover had swiftly dried, they were doomed to motionlessly sit and wait, trapped.

Every so often, a random page bound within the covers would be turned and words (and memories) that had been written down in the past came back to the fore of her mind. A short paragraph, page forty-four, from months ago once again allowed her to recollect the sorrow, pain and disgrace that filtered through in the victim's eyes, and into her heart. The utter loneliness that too often would weave a trap around her, luring her closer and closer until she silently cried, longing for some human comfort. Comfort that often wasn't there.

Page eight. Not quite in shorthand, not easily decipherable either. 'I can't believe I didn't see it coming. What good am I in my job if I didn't see this?! God, how often we see spouses and couples that aren't faithful. I never, ever thought I'd be the 'other woman'. Shit. Bastard. Why did I even care about him?'

A collection of words, no heed paid to the grammatical rules she had been taught in school, had been jotted down near the top of the page, on the thirty-second page.

Angry letters, carved deeply into the thin paper, nearly scratched through. The despair she felt when Susanna died emanating from every pore of the page, from every inked word. Even now, the raw pain seemed fresh, as though it had only happened last week. Time had placed a band-aid on the wound, but the scar hadn't healed yet. She wondered if it ever would.

Page sixty-four was mostly blank. She hadn't known what to write then. 'Sometimes words aren't enough, no matter how wonderful they are.' The only line, in the middle of the page. Hesitation marks could be seen, indicating her uncertainty of what exactly to write. For how to translate her emotions into words after witnessing a speech that, for her, came out of the blue, enrapturing her and enticing a cacophony of feelings. Why couldn't he be as eloquent when talking to her? Worn down and exhausted, his defenses had shattered and what he had said had been unimpeded by the more logical side of him, the rational part. Instead it seemed to come from his heart. But why then? Why in an interrogation room, talking to a suspect? Why not to her? God knows she had tried to access his heart and feelings before, tried to draw them out. At first there were the double entendres, sexual innuendos, smiles and jokes, which over the course of years had mutated into gaps of silence, uncertain looks and rejections. In the back of her mind, the uncertainty and pain still lingered, occasionally interfering with her more rational thoughts.

She had never purposely endangered the reputation of the lab, had never been outrageously rude to staff or suspect, had always tried to achieve the best possible results. And she had the least to show for it.

It also rankled her slightly that a near DUI screw up on her part could turn out to be quite possibly the savior of their relationship. But, she told herself, he was the one who made the first move after so long. Things were going better, their trust in each other, and themselves, restored, the easy friendship and comfort had returned, and they talked again. About everything and nothing. And he hadn't yet withdrawn. Nor had she.

The ringing of her cell phone interrupted her bittersweet musings, and she immediately recognized the caller's ID.

"You're lucky I'm still awake, Grissom, or you'd have an extremely grouchy me to deal with. What's up? Has there been a break in the case?" Sara grabbed a pair of jeans from her bedroom to replace the sweatpants she was currently wearing.

"This coming from Miss 'she who never sleeps'? I have yet to see you sleeping in a proper bed instead of nodding off in the break room. But no, nothing on the case yet. I was wondering if I could come over, just…to see you." 'To see you, to talk to you, to hold you… ' His treacherous imagination veered off down a path that was much traveled, but not yet taken.

Yes, he wanted more than friendship, he had established that already days ago in the last argument that had raged within him. No, neither of them had been ready then, or so he thought. But what about now? Grissom realized that sentiments and views could change suddenly when dealing with matters of the heart. And he wasn't so sure he'd be able to hang on to his previously decided direction.

His train of thought was interrupted.

"Hey, I sleep," she countered, "In a very comfortable bed I might add, you just haven't seen it. Yet." She glanced at her bedroom surroundings. "Do you just want to see me, or would you like to talk too? Or perhaps that wasn't quite what you had in mind?"

Grissom could practically hear her smile through the phone, the humor and flirtatiousness traveling straight through him. He could see her holding the phone with one hand, head slightly cocked, her other hand occasionally tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. "How about I just show you what I had in mind, make it an experiment of sorts?"

He was astonished at the words that left his mouth, which truth be told had been trotting around in his subconscious ever since she mentioned the word bed. She was pleasantly shocked and tried to come up with a response.

"Sounds good to me. As you of course know though, being a doctor in entomology and such, any experiment needs a sound hypothesis. Want to share yours?" She wasn't sure what to expect, but a tingling sensation had crept into her, one of excitement and awareness that this phone conversation might have the power to steer them into a whole new direction.

"I'd rather not. It would spoil the surprise, don't you think?"

She chuckled slightly. "Hmm… Alright then, when can you be here?"

He was thankful that the route to her apartment was relatively simple and had been memorized for longer than he cared to admit. While he hadn't acted outwardly on his feelings in the past years, his car had passed her apartment block more than once. And never had he stopped and gotten out. Well, not before last May anyway.

Parking the car nearby, he stepped out and locked it. A rustle in the woody bushes to the right of him alerted Grissom that something was prowling around, and no sooner than he started to wonder what it might be, a silver-gray cat slunk from beneath the Jasmine, walked proudly up to a nearby oak tree, and sat down. His tail occasionally sweeping the floor, his gaze was firmly fixed on the bird perched on one of the lower branches of the tree. Deciding that it had had enough of the inquisitive and hungry pair of eyes that were permanently fixed on him, the bluebird gracefully winged its way over the cat's head onto a safer patch of land. One less bird casualty today, Grissom thought.

Walking the few remaining yards to Sara's complex, the already hot dry air hung like a blanket around him. The scorching sun was set high and proud in the sky, casting its rays partially on the front and side of the building, enveloping it in a patchwork of sunlit and shadowy patches. Some of the windows were ruthlessly reflecting the light, and Grissom was glad he was wearing sunglasses. All that unnecessary squinting when not wearing them played havoc on his ocular muscles.

Pushing open the door, he easily navigated through the small hallway and up the stairs. Grey and white tiles adorned the floor, the black dots speckled amongst the swirls lending it a faux-marble effect. While the white walls were left bare in most parts, the ocean blue doors, and occasional horsehead Philodendron creeping its way down the wall towards the floor, injected some color into the décor. Clean and modern, with the occasional touch of elegance thrown in, Grissom wasn't surprised that Sara lived here. Her interests ranged far and wide, from mythical tales to postmodern art. It only made sense that her abode wouldn't be constricted to just one style either.

Three quick raps on the door and he stood back a step, bag of bagels and fruit at his side, waiting for Sara to open the door.

Grissom hardly had time to run a hand through his hair before she appeared and waved him in. "Hey, come on in."

"Well, that was quick," he commented, sidestepping a cluttered dining table and placing his coat on one of the wooden chairs. Upon Sara's slightly puzzled look, "You answering the door."

"Ah, right. One of the perks of a minimally small apartment. Takes me just seconds to cross from the bedroom to the front door." She took the offered breakfast and placed it on the kitchen counter.

"Want some coffee or, " she grabbed a bottle from the fridge and held it up, "the healthier option, also known as water?" Looking up, she saw Grissom opening and closing several of the cupboard doors until he found what he was looking for and plucked the canister of ground coffee from its usual spot. "I guess water is out, then, seeing that you figured out the workings of my espresso machine."

His lips twitched, an attempt to stifle the grin that tried to break through, and he simply continued with the coffee making ritual. A silence ensued, occasionally broken up by the soft whir from the airconditioning, and Sara's sock-clad steps that indicated that she hadn't planted herself on her couch and relaxed. She had tried to place the bagels on plates, and when he looked at her with raised eyebrows and a 'what do you think you're doing?' look she went to get some cutlery to make things easier, but he would have none of that either. Instead, he barred her from opening the drawer, standing in front of it, arms held backwards gripping the counter top, and shook his head slightly. "Let me do this, Sara. "

She huffed and turned, hands on her hips, looking around the room. Her reaction didn't surprise him. After all, he was the one who had called her, asked to come over, invaded her space at - a quick glance at his watch - ten in the morning. Sara's energetic ways didn't screech to a halt just because he was here with her. And invading her house wasn't the best way to have her relax.

She looked around, and while clean, she saw that the place was anything but uncluttered. Books were placed haphazardly on table tops and on one of the wooden dining chairs, mail-order catalogues and papers strewn amongst them, creating a chaotic display, letters and colors dancing and battling to attract the most eye attention.

Spotting an empty water bottle, its blue labeled and see-through container somehow had managed to blend in with the background decorations, she walked up to its perch and gentle pushed away the plant that had partially concealed it. The Aloe Vera was growing steadily, its pointy and waxy foliage standing tall and proud. The few cut out leafs that were used to combat the occasional cooking burn were regenerating well and the plant generally looked happy, she thought. For as far as plants could look happy, of course. Snapping up the empty bottle and carefully placing the pot into its old position, she walked back towards the kitchen where Grissom by now had fished two coffee cups and several plates from yet another cupboard. She had just about set foot in the kitchen when she set her bottle on the counter and walked a few steps back towards the center table, intent on rearranging the two magazines and notebook. All she did was straighten them out and pile them up, but at least it was something to do. Sitting down and doing nothing was not something that came easily to Sara Sidle.

"Counter or couch?" Grissom indicated both choices with a cup of coffee held in one hand, and bagels in the other. Just as Sara started to walk in his direction and made a move to take one of the cups from him, he held both arms wide and high, the coffee neatly staying in, but swashing around slightly, in their containers. "Sit down and relax. Let me serve you. " He reiterated his question. "Now, counter or couch?"

"Couch it is then. " Sara pouted slightly and plopped down on the couch, tilting her head slightly, staring at Grissom who sauntered over. The bright mismatched plates, courtesy of her parents when she first moved out, were set in front of her, the array of foods and steaming coffee traveling straight through her, her stomach voicing its appreciation by the tiniest of rumbles.

Grissom stood a little longer than necessary, trying to decide where to sit. Either on a nearby chair, which would be safe distance-wise, yet impersonal, or next to her on the couch where her aura and fragrance could so easily envelop him and penetrate his weakening fortress of a heart.

Decision made, he settled himself on the couch next to Sara, piercing a chunk of pineapple with his fork in the process. A smile playing on his lips, his entire demeanor one of playful relaxation, he held it up to Sara's mouth. "Hungry?"

Part of Sara's mind managed to immediately delve into the gutter and answered quietly 'Definitely, and for something bigger than that chunk of pineapple.' The rational, and for the moment, unaffected by lust, part, managed to give a slightly more subdued answer. "You betcha."

The gleaming glance in Sara's eyes and the shifting looks between staring at each other's eyes and lips had the effect of spiking up the heat between them, and Sara slowly moved forward, catching the piece of fruit deftly between her teeth. Closing her lips around it in a sultry fashion, she not once stopped looking Grissom in the eye.

He was enthralled, and against his common sense, he inched closer, his face hovering near hers, almost as though he was asking her permission to go forward. She nodded almost imperceptibly, and just as slowly, he closed the remaining distance.

Her lips were soft and pliant, a sugary film of pineapple juice mingling with a previously applied coating of lip balm, creating a sweet, slightly fragrant taste that Grissom couldn't get enough of.

His lips were strong and purposeful, the natural scent of him combined with the faintest trace of soap creating a dangerous and potent mix. Her hands threaded through his hair, keeping him as close as molecularly possible.

He was gentle yet determined, allowing her to be an equal participant in every touch and kiss, and she returned his gentleness, but becoming more forceful by the minute until they were nearly battling for the upper hand, inducing a make out session that would make any teenager proud. Then, almost by mind reading, they slowed down. Frantic kisses, nibbles, touches became gentler, more soothing, and they both moved around slightly to find a more comfortable position on the couch. She leaned up slightly to place a soft peck on his cheek and his arms went around her, holding her close to him.

"How's your appetite now?"

She closed her eyes and pressed a kiss on his shirt-clad chest. "Sated. For the moment."

_TBC_


	4. They say writing's therapeutic

A/N Let's be honest here and face reality. You think I own CBS/CSI by now? No? You sure? Good, 'cause you're right.

Thanks to my betas Laredo and LK, and any mistakes that are left in this chapter are mine. Again.

  
Chapter 4

A quick look at his watch confirmed the fact that it was nearing one in the afternoon, and while Sara's soft breaths and occasional dream-filled twitches were quite amusing, and strikingly unfamiliar to Grissom, he knew that he did need some proper sleep before heading off to work again.

The sofa was comfortable enough, when one sat relatively straight and nestled comfortably in the pillows that were adorning the cream and white quilt. But with legs angled to the left and his upper torso bizarrely twisted against the armrest, Grissom was uncomfortable. It didn't even matter that the person leaning against him was Sara, with one hand flattened against his chest, using him as a makeshift pillow. Besides, Grissom figured, the pose that Sara was half sitting-half reclined in wasn't exactly conducive to her health either. He could already imagine the neck and side ache that she would have for real in a few hours time if he didn't wake her up now.

The back of his fingers barely brushed her earlobe, then continued down her jaw line and chin, softly tracing back the path along her chin and cheek, creating a silk touch that was tender yet ticklish at the same time. It was a touch sure to wake her up.

A quiet moan escaped on a sigh, and she awoke slowly, a few blinks of the eye and lick of the lips ensuring that her facial features were all in prime working order. She straightened slightly, still retaining her physical attachment to Grissom in the form of a hand casually resting on his shoulder. A yawn escaped her as she spoke. "Why did you wake me up? Your chest's a wonderful pillow."

"While I would love to dedicate the use of my chest as that of your personal pillow, this couch isn't too comfortable for my back." He twisted around slightly and propped his arm up on the back of the sofa. A fist supported his cheek in a typical Grissom pose. "I prefer a bed."

"Then we'll go to bed. "Sara's still slightly sleep riddled brain was more than happy to be going back to sleep. "I'm an adult, you're an adult, and we're both tired, so let's go." Sleep sounded heavenly to her, with his strong arms holding her securely and resting on her abdomen, her back warmed by his smooth chest, his soft exhalations matching hers. Yes, sleep sounded like a wonderful idea to Sara.

She tugged on his hand and stood, walking a few feet in the direction of what Grissom presumed was her bedroom. Just as he started to follow her, Sara nearly slipped on a journal that apparently had fallen on the floor. Stifling a curse, she picked it up and moved the sleeve of her sweater over its cover to clean off any remnants of dust. Staring at it for a few seconds longer, she placed it gently on the dining table and turned around. "You coming?"

He ambled over to where she stood, and glanced at the indigo blue and red cover."You okay?" Looking back over at her, he saw her nod.

"Yeah, sure." She looked around the place with a frown marring her face. "I should reorganize everything again. Lately, I just haven't had the time to keep it all neat and tidy. Guess I should just watch where I'm going. And so should you." She smiled.

Her voiced words traveled through the air and reached his ears, but Grissom's focus had deviated slightly, his interest piqued by the journal with its dark and cosmos like cover. He stood in thought, his irises looking at Sara without truly seeing her, then swiftly flitting over the dining table and its magazines and clutter, then to the floor and back up to Sara's eyes. "Intriguing design."

"Huh?"

He clarified. "The cover. May I?"

Sara waved one hand in a 'go ahead and do as you please' gesture, the other tried to stifle a broad yawn. "Sorry, guess the lack of sleep is catching up to me. Sure." Her sleep-muddled brain realized the possible implication of her affirmative answer a tad too late. Her eyes went wide, and a near silent curse mixed in with yet another yawn went unheard by Grissom.

He picked up the booklet, his thumb gliding over the glossy finish. The cover was sturdy and smooth, soft slithers of color draping into one another. Turning it around in his hand and studying each detail, he noticed the more than off-white upper corners of the pages indicating a use that rose above the occasional handling and flicking through. The papers were snugly secured in its back, the pages actually sewn into the lint by hand, showing an art of craftsmanship that was rapidly disappearing. For all of Sara's outward appearance that hinted at simplicity, touches of luxury and class were all around him, the object in his hand no exception.

She was such a contrast, he thought, when laying her different character aspects side by side– her almost tangible need to be seen as strong and tough by the outside world, by those who she would deliberately keep at bay emotionally. Yet a softer, hurt, perhaps even scared side mingled within, almost like the different colors on the cover he was still holding. Distinctive, yet opposing character traits and feelings encompassed Sara's personality, creating a potent mix of passion and intuitiveness, empathy and stubbornness that so often served her well at work.

While these thoughts lingered in his consciousness, Grissom flipped open the booklet and started to read a random page. What he found took him by surprise.

Sara felt him stare at her, but she already had her back turned to him and didn't speak. She didn't want to explain why she wrote her experiences and feelings in a journal. Not now. Not when all she wanted to do was snuggle under the covers and enjoy the warmth and comfort another human body could provide– the safety and tenderness that she craved. And from their previous snuggling on the couch, she knew that he was exactly what she needed.

Upon hearing a soft sigh she turned around. "Grissom?"

He stopped reading and closed the book, but didn't look up. "Is this yours?"

"Well, yeah. It wouldn't have been on the floor otherwise. You coming?" She hoped that he would be smart enough to drop the subject. _'Don't go fishing for details Grissom. I mean it. Please, just put it down.' _If her curt tone of voice didn't convey her displeasure with the situation, Sara's body language would have done the trick. She stood tense, her arms folded tightly across her abdomen.

Grissom looked up, his observation of her handwriting temporarily halted. Instead, he looked at her and got a reality check. Dealing with an angry Sara was not something with priority on his 'to do' list. Sleeping, preferably with her, was. Fat chance, if her posture was any indication.

"I never pegged you as someone who kept a diary." His hand, which held the book, dropped to his side as he spoke.

"It isn't exactly a diary, at least not in the sense of it being a record of my day to day life. You've been a CSI longer than I have Grissom; you know the pain and death that comes with this job." She shrugged. "Sometimes it just becomes too much. Writing... well, it helps."

"When did you start keeping this journal?"

"It wasn't a suggestion from my counsellor, if that's what you're asking. I'm sure you've seen some of the dates on the pages." She walked up to Grissom and held out her hand, waiting for him to return the journal to her. Fine eyebrows were raised in a questioning look tinged with exasperation. "Please?" While the word in itself was a plea, her tone of voice low and soft, it still came out as a demand. She held out her palm a bit more, slightly wiggling her fingers from sheer annoyance.

"I... wasn't asking that." He handed over the journal into her waiting palm, as though it was an Oreo filling and their hands were the biscuits that sandwiched it. His fingers slid over the cover and curled slightly around Sara's upturned wrist in an act of acknowledgement rather than posessiveness.

He noted that, while she had answered the questions he had asked, she wasn't about to say anything more on the matter, and he wasn't too happy about it. He understood her need for privacy, for retaining a corner and spaces within you that were yours alone– untouched, unheard, unexplored by the other. In all the years that he had lived he had built up an impressive array of hiding places within his heart and mind. Perhaps that was the reason why he was seen as enigmatic and odd. But as he and Sara grew closer, they had touched upon them, upon memories and fears that he had never expected to share with anyone. And they had stumbled upon a few dark mines in her past, which she eventually shared with him. But the journal was different. From what he had seen from his last quick glance through it, the entries hadn't started within the last few months. Rather, they dated back several years, back to a time when they had been able to communicate freely, when they had been friends.

"Look Sara, I know that you value your privacy, but talk to me, please. Yes, this job is harrowing and highly disturbing at times, and it tends to make us reflect on who we are, on our actions and missed opportunities, but why did you feel the need to write them down?" Grissom flexed his hand and slowly slid it back into his pant's pockets. This was all coming out wrong, he thought, but he couldn't seem to help himself, prying into her feelings because he needed to be close to her, to maintain a bond that would last. Wording his thoughts in a relative jumble, a pleading note flowing through it. "Why a journal instead of sharing it with someone?"

Sara's gaze turned to shock, then anger before finally succumbing to sorrow. She had hoped she wouldn't have had to explain. "Because I had no one here, Grissom, that's why!" She stalked off to the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of water from the fridge and unscrewing the top as though it could it absorb all her pain. "Damnit, when I first came here, I was a pariah. It was never my life's plan to be an outcast, Grissom. It took some hard work to get my bearings here, and then when I finally started to be accepted and became friends with some, you started to withdraw. No matter what you think of me, I do _not_ go around and tell my deepest innermost feelings to someone whose favourite color I don't even know." The bottle of water that she had kept in a tight hold was firmly planted on the counter and she turned to face him. "You of all people should know that."

Her head hung in a show of defeat and her chest was rapidly moving, breathing shallow wafts of air in and expelling it just as quickly. It wasn't so much a result of anger as of anguish.

"Does that mean you know my favourite color?" Deciding that a lighthearted question was the safest bet, Grissom stepped closer to Sara, keeping a close eye on her reaction. He had already pushed it far enough, and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel trapped in her own house, within her own emotional barriers.

"Hmm..." A corner of her mouth lifted against her will, and she looked up to find him standing a few feet away as though waiting for her permission to come closer. "Navy blue." Bracing her hands on the counter a moment, she pushed off and enfolded him in a tight embrace.

He placed a light kiss on her hair and bent down to softly murmur in her ear. "I... This isn't over, you know." Sara started to withdraw slightly, but his arms only tightened around her. "But we're both still tired, and there'll be plenty of time when we can talk about this. So, will you sleep with me?"

A finger lifted her chin slightly and tender blue eyes met her tired and slightly shimmering ones, and she nodded. "Yeah. Sleep sounds good."

She tugged on his hand, playfully pulling him in the direction of her bedroom. Sara could hear the soft mattress calling her, with either Grissom or a real feathery fluffy pillow as head support. The earlier argument, although not a full–out fight, had depleted her of energy.

Suddenly, the implication dawned on Grissom that they were headed to her bedroom. To her bed. To what was often seen as the inner sanctuary of any house. 'Well,' he thought, 'the bedroom is the sanctuary of my house too, besides the well stocked terrariums in the guest room. '

As Sara got nearer and nearer their mutual destination, her thoughts took on a similar appearance. She stopped and turned, keeping her hand wrapped around his. "Are you sure about this?"

He furrowed his brow pretending he didn't know what she meant. "What do you mean?"

"Us, sleeping in my bed, presumably going to be wearing less than we currently are? I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. I mean, I could, leave, if you want." Why in the world would she leave? This was her house after all. She had the advantage in this situation at the moment. Things were finally moving along again, and she had to open her big mouth. 'Overtalking seriously appears to be your forte, Sara.' She willed her mental voice to retreat to its corner and sulk as she heard Grissom not quite chuckling, but sounding suspiciously amused.

"This is your house Sara, leaving wouldn't really serve a purpose. It certainly wouldn't make me more comfortable." He turned her around and steered her towards the last door in sight, the bedroom. "In fact," his lips brushed her helix in a satin soft touch, "sharing a bed with you sounds perfect. Like a dream come true."

TBC


	5. Progression's Path

**Title**: _A Heart's Desire._

**Summary**: Their relationship has been deteriorating steadily over the past years, now's the time to rebuild it. G/S. After a six months hiatus, it's finally Finished!

**Author's note**: It's been over six months since this WIP has been updated. But now it's finally finished. I tried to write this final chapter before, and at one point (after numerous tries) I had something on paper, but which I didn't think was worth posting. Thus I left this story to be forgotten (though I occasionally tried to write for it again), until last week when I was able to write this little bit. The style and tense of this chapter is quite different than the last chapters; consider it an experiment. And perhaps a cop-out. Regardless, let me know if it works or not.

And thus I present the final chapter of this WIP. My first, and for far into the future, last one. Beware of the fluff and mush. Thanks to Carmen for the quick once-over.

Chapter 5

There had been a whitewashed double bed with cream covers. Two simple bed stands, the right one harboring two text books; one of which detailed the classical structures of Roman building. He remembered thinking that it was such a contrast to the Bauhaus architectural design book he had seen in her living room earlier. And he was able to recall his joy when he had noticed the cover of the second book peaking out from underneath. That cover that he would have recognize anywhere: the entomology textbook he had given her for Christmas that previous year.

Even now, Grissom was still surprised that he had given it to her. Their relationship hadn't exactly been smooth sailing back then, yet he had gathered up the courage and give her something practical which also tied to his own interests. Sara always had been a gregarious student. One who valued knowledge, so that even if she wouldn't realize the shy attempt at his trying to reconnect to her, she would at least put the book to good use by perusing it. Even applying some of the texts to a case once in a while. He doubted that she'd be as invested in nature's bugs as him, going as far as to graduate with a PhD in entomology, but that didn't matter. She'd be more than capable of supervising a lab with the extent of knowledge she had already acquired. Even if he had robbed her of that first chance when the opportunity arose.

Now, months later, life had progressed. They had slept together that night as had been the plan, emotionally intimate without the physical aspect. And when they had woken, there was a sense of hesitancy, of wondering what to say, what to do? With hair mussed up, a sloppy curl having snuck back in during the night, and eyes that were blinking a few times before fully opening, she had looked beautifully chaotic. But what to do then. Kiss her, or would she kiss him? Snuggle up a little, drifting back in a state of bliss? For, he recalled, it was bliss. A feeling of contentment that he hadn't felt in so long, if ever, that it had caused a true smile to creep up his face. Spooning her, he had known she had been unable to see it, but it was almost as though she had felt it, for she rolled over and kissed the smile right off.

The next morning he had invited her to his house, a step that was monumental in its simplicity. When she'd entered the living room she noticed the copied notes of the case they had been working on, neatly penned questions and remarks written on a nearby notepad. With a seemingly transparent understanding, he'd brought two cups of coffee to the table and set one in front of her, the other in front of himself. As a final thought, he took the pages of information and planted them in between. And so they got to work, brainstorming leads and ideas which, later on, turned out to be the missing piece of the puzzle. As they progressed on the case, so did their relationship.

But the progression hadn't been smooth, hadn't been the sense of fulfillment and all-encompassing joy that poets had written about for centuries. Well, at least not all the time. And that was fine by the both of them. Individuals used to living their own lives should not be expected to magically form a lovey-dovey, fairytale partnership. Romantic poetry was one thing, reality something else entirely. And they knew it. Arguments not quite spawning into full-out fights, time spent apart on hobbies and jogs, so that while Grissom would be training his hissing cockroaches, Sara would be on a three mile run. And that, too, was part of their ritual. Just as dinner was once a month in one of the countless restaurants Las Vegas harbored.

Dressing up a bit, going to one of the finer culinary establishments in the area which they both turned out to be enjoying. A little surprising perhaps, since neither were the type to 'see and be seen'. Then again, places such as the Stratopshere were not the only ones dined at. There were plenty of quirky diners and quiet bistros where they felt more at home. Excellent, not too frilly, food, and nothing to remind them of work.

II

Sara had never expected him to become an emotionally outgoing guy, and truth be told, she didn't want that either. She shared the traits of being a bit of a loner, someone who only opened up if she felt it was pertinent, and if she'd been the one to have made the decision. Her counselor's sessions had proven to be interesting, with the other woman uttering the standard, professional sounding drivel, and Sara nodding once in a while. And occasionally speaking up a little to show that she hadn't drifted off. She'd gotten something out of it, for there was more than a little bit of truth in what the counselor had been trying to impart to her. But for the most part, there hadn't been the feeling of comfortableness around her, making it difficult to share anything intimately personal. _Come to think of it_, Sara thought, _she'd always had more of a problem relating to women than to men. Maybe a male counselor had been better..._

She was startled from her musings as she heard someone walk into the lab room, and she looked up. "Hey."

"Hey. How's the clothing coming along?" He stepped beside her and cast an inquisitive glance over the collection of shirts that was gathered on the lay-out table. "Found anything probative so far?"

Sara shook her head and braced her hands on the counter top. "Not a single thing. There's just nothing here, and it makes no sense. If our eyewitness is saying he saw Michael Whitmoore shoot his wife while wearing such a shirt, why can't I find anything!" Her hands pushed off the table and she straightened, looking Grissom in the eye. "There's nothing, zilch. Not a single hair, blood spatter on any of his shirts. I mean, I checked every single one of them to be sure, and there's not even a fleck of dandruff!" She crossed her arms in front of her. "Only reason I can come up with is that our witness is lying, which begs the question: Why?"

And once again, work infiltrated their private lives as they went home after shift to the same townhouse. Yet it didn't create a fission between them, or at least not one that couldn't be mended with some honest words and an acceptance of the other person's point of view.

III

A gift-wrapped box sat on the kitchen counter when she came home. Sliding her hands over the luxury paper, she couldn't discover a card or note. She unwrapped it eagerly, surprised and curious as to what it could be. And why. For today wasn't a special date as far as she could recall. It wasn't her birthday, and the celebration of them being …what was it, 164 days? together was something to enjoy, but not pay special attention to.

The metallic blue and chrome espresso machine that appeared was a beauty in its own right, and the little 'Just Because' card with Grissom's signature scrawled on it made her heart melt a little. The little bag of freshly roasted coffee beans allowed the scent to waft through, and Sara inhaled deeply, reveling in the spicy and poignant aroma.

"I love you."

She turned and looked into the twinkling eyes of Grissom. "Well, I love you too, you… you…doofus! What brought this on?" Her arms sneaked around his neck and she pecked his lips, drawing back to look at him once more.

"Nothing in particular. Just seeing your pout this morning when we ran out of regular coffee, and your death glare directed to Greg as he told you he hid his secret stash." He tugged her closer to him, enjoying the feel of her bare arms around his neck, of his hands around her small waist. "Can't have you all grumpy and uncaffeinated at work, unless Brass has some suspect who needs intimidating."

A playful glare and a few tender kisses later found them on the couch, watching some comedy on the television, loosely laying in each other's arms. For now, things were perfect in its normalcy, and they could only hope, and work, on letting it continue that way.

The End.


End file.
